


All These Cabins In the Woods

by oleanderedits



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Other, christian blasphemy, christian religious themes, more tags to be added as fiction updates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-21 23:20:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13751331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oleanderedits/pseuds/oleanderedits
Summary: The Wildfire Virus is a plague sent by God and Jesus is the literal Jesus.





	All These Cabins In the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> So every time I hear "Walk on Water" by Thirty Seconds to Mars, I can't help but imagine scenes with TWD's Jesus being actual literal Jesus. So this is happening now.

He'd been told a test of faith would come. Not his, of course, but the world's. A revelation made to him on his 30th birthday by his Father. That it would come soon and it he would have to be ready for all that it meant.

He'd thought it would come with him announcing his presence, His return. Performing the miracles of old perhaps. Things people would scoff at now and site as nothing more than street magic. Anything a good magician could pull with smoke and mirrors. But gaining a following when he started healing the sick with a touch. Things that would spread His word and help those that needed it. The world could certainly use such miracles with the state it was in.

But he was wrong. He waited a year, coming to terms with who and what he was. What his purpose would be. His Father gave him that much. But the trial that came was as bad as the Great Flood. Worse, perhaps, for man. It didn't touch the animals, the trees or the earth. Only man.

He felt it the moment it hit. The very first soul to leave it's body and the very instant that body got up and walked again. He didn't know where it happened, just that it did. And when the second soon followed, accompanied by a horrified prayer that held only the barest of faith, he felt it, too. Heard the words echoed across his mind.

“ _What are you doing? Oh, God, no! Please stop! Stop! St-”_

A test of faith.

It took a month, maybe two, for the plague to spread enough to hit critical mass. And then the world knew and the world flooded his head with their pleas and his soul felt every death. So many lives he couldn't save. So many he wasn't close enough to help. He was born to create miracles, but he was still only human.

“ _Please God, if you're listening, if you're even there, my son was bit and he's... he's got a fever, but he doesn't deserve this. Please, let him live. Please, please... Take me if you need to take someone. Please...”_

He wasn't supposed to save any of them. His purpose was to aid those who found their way to him and help lead the survivors into a new world. It would take longer than forty days and forty nights. It would take years. The hunger of the dead would fade within a decade. Those carrying the plague would see it come to an end. He knew this. His Father absolved him of any guilt he felt for those he couldn't help. It wasn't his purpose to do so, though of course he'd try. It was who he was.

But he still found guilt. It permeated his being with every prayer that echoed through him. Every life ended by the plague and by bullets or knives or whatever came from those that tried to escape it or fought each other for supplies in the chaos that followed. He could feel the faith of the world slipping away. Feel it dying.

“ _Yo, JC! You taking requests?”_

He wished he could. He wished every little girl he heard mothers and fathers cry over wouldn't be lost to them. He whispered his own prayers to his Father, because he knew He was listening. But got no answer except the same reassurance that his actions or inactions held no fault for what was happening. What needed to happen.

Across the first year, the voices faded as more and more lost their faith or were killed. He could only hear prayers when they were for him and his Father. The less who held faith, the less of the faithful who lived, the less he could hear. And so as time moved on, the more certain voices stood out. He didn't know them well, but he did know _them_ and their stories. Their families and what they cared for. Who they prayed for.

It was from these ones, these precious few who still held onto their teachings after so much hardship, that he was to find the leaders of the new world to come and guide them forward.

“ _Heavenly Father, hallowed be thy name, we ask you to bless us this day and give us support in our time of need. Lori died today, bringing a new life into this world and Rick is... He's taking it hard. He needs your help to work through this._

_We know that those who have passed on go to you, Lord. We know they're with you and are now watching over us. Please keep T-Dog and Carol and Lori safe by your side._

_We haven't named her yet, but Lori had a daughter and she's beautiful and we ask for you to bless her and keep her strong and healthy. We also ask that you look after our friends, our family who still live._

_In your name we pray. Amen.”_

Hershel led the prayers for that group for months. Sometimes others would add their thoughts in with his words, their own echoing his. Maggie and Beth, mostly. But occasionally he'd be surprised by the almost wistful echo of Rick or Daryl or Tyresse or Sasha. Carol lived, he knew that from their prayers, but he never heard her. Not anymore. He hadn't heard her since a couple weeks after Sophia was lost.

There were other voices, other groups, but for some reason that one stayed the loudest. Even when Hershel left to go to his Father's side and Maggie took over, it stayed prominent in his mind. They were important. He didn't know why them specifically. Not when there were others closer to him, others that were just as strong in their faith and in just as much need. But it wasn't his place to choose, to pick, to decide who the world would follow.

He wasn't meant to lead in this life. He was meant to guide and support. Humanity as a whole didn't need a savior: they needed to save themselves.

Rick's voice faded to nothing half-way through the second year. Just after Hershel was lost. Maggie's stayed strong and Sasha's joined in more and more after Beth and Tyresse and Bob left the group. Glenn tried every now and then, but he didn't really believe the way Maggie did. But he did his best to support her in every way he knew how.

But after Maggie, it was Daryl who's whispered prayers came the strongest. The man had no faith. Not a lick of it. And yet he prayed. He _hoped_. That hope was ironclad no matter how much it was tarnished. He couldn't seem to shake it even when he tried.

Even knowing they were out there, that they were coming up toward D.C., from Maggie's own words, it didn't prepare him for the meeting. To see Rick and Daryl in the flesh. The first confident and the second world wary and ready to destroy anything, especially a thieving ninja prick, to protect the other.

He lifted his hands to either side, a sardonic grin gracing his face and knowing he would be the only one to ever fully appreciate the joke, “Paul Rovia. But my friends used to call me Jesus. Your pick.”


End file.
